


Marshmallow Kiss

by Ginia



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, New Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 22:51:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12352185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginia/pseuds/Ginia
Summary: When you're dating someone as handsome, charming, and ridiculously romantic as Gladiolus Amicitia, you can expect that your first time will be something special.





	Marshmallow Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dansedanserevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dansedanserevolution/gifts).



> I really hope you enjoy this. It came out more fluffy than smutty, but it felt right? ^_^;;

Prompto watches the Leiden countryside streak past in a blurry haze of beige, tan, and brown. Lots of brown. Actually, it’s all brown. Heck, with the amount of dust that Gladio’s jeep is kicking up, even the sky is tinted brown.

 His camera is slung around his neck and the blonde fiddles with it, but makes no move to actually snap any pictures. It wasn’t that the scenery is uninspiring – well okay it kinda is, but that’s not the problem – Prompto can take a picture of a rock on the side of the road and make it look sophisticated and edgy. No, his problem is that he’s simply a bundle of nerves; he can feel them buzzing and prickling beneath his skin, like a livewire.

He flicks his gaze sideways to where Gladio sits in the driver’s seat, an easy smile adorning his chiselled features, one tattooed arm draped casually out the open window to soak up the sun. Prompto gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing prominently, and tries to match Gladio’s smile. He gets about halfway, one side of his mouth quirking up in an awkward grin while the other remains stubbornly down.

He’s really not used to feeling so anxious in Gladio’s company. Not since the first time they had met, years ago now, when his friendship with Noctis had been an exciting new development in his previously dreary life. He’d been introduced to the Prince’s bodyguard one terrifying afternoon in Noct’s apartment. Even now, years later, Prompto can still remember with crystal clarity the way those keen golden eyes had narrowed, assessing him, sizing him up to see if he posed any sort of threat to the Prince.  He can still remember the sudden, irrational fear that had swept over him that day, that somehow Prompto would just look guilty or threatening, as if his puppy dog eyes and sunny disposition were just masks for the sinister, evil creature hiding at his core. Authority figures always have that effect on Prompto, as if he’s done something wrong that he just can’t remember, and it’s only a matter of time until he’s found out.

Naturally, of course, Gladio hadn’t seen anything but a pair of puppy dog eyes and a sunny disposition – a friend to bring a sliver of normalcy to the Prince’s inner circle.

In next to no time they had warmed to each other. Prompto was a bundle of nervous energy, and that tended to manifest itself in the form of bubbly chatter. Gladio was a people person, and didn’t seem to mind Prompto’s babblings. In fact, they seemed to brighten the Shield’s sometimes grim mood. There were times when Prompto could actually see this phenomenon manifesting itself physically, in the way Gladio’s posture relaxes and the tension slips from his limbs as soon as Prompto greets him with one of his famous one-armed hugs, or the way honeyed eyes turn luminous with pure delight when he sees Prompto at the end of a long day. He has a tendency to laugh the loudest and most readily at all of Prompto’s terrible jokes and silly stories.

They had been dating for six months now. Well, six months minus a day. Tomorrow was their actual six month anniversary – date-a-versary? What were you even supposed to call it? Ignis probably knows. Prompto makes a mental note to ask him when they get home. Well whatever it’s called, it’s the reason that Prompto is currently curled up in the passenger seat of Gladio’s old jeep, whizzing through the countryside on their way to _somewhere_. Prompto doesn’t even know where he’s being spirited off to.  Gladio had just told him a week ago to pack an overnight bag, because he was taking Prompto on an overnight trip to celebrate their six months of being together as a couple. The back of the jeep is crammed with duffel bags and bundles of canvas that cover who-knows-what. Gladio’s taken care of all of the preparations, telling Prompto to just bring along a change of clothes and any necessities.

Prompto doesn’t know what he’d found more terrifying – the uncertainty of where they’re going, or the gut-scrunching anxiety that comes from knowing that he’ll be away _overnight_ with his boyfriend.

His initial horror at not knowing where he’s going has abated, now that it’s obvious that Gladio is not dragging him to some swanky, swishy, upscale place where nobility go to drink fancy drinks and eat impossible to pronounce food. Gladio’s just wearing a tank top and casual jeans, and Prompto finally believes his boyfriend’s previous assurances that no, he doesn’t need to pack any fancy clothes, that they’re going to have fun and just relax.

One source of anxiety down, one to go!

Despite his reputation as a bit of a playboy – a reputation derived more from his roguish good looks than anything -- Gladio has been a perfect gentleman as their relationship has transitioned from friends to boyfriends. They’ll hold hands while on dates, kiss each other goodnight when Gladio drops Prompto off after a night out, and they’ve made out on Gladio’s couch more times than Prompto can count – okay that’s a lie, 19, they’ve made out 19 times, Prompto was counting, because Gladio’s an incredible kisser and Prompto may be addicted to his lips – but other than some furious kissing, hands sliding up an untucked shirt or squeezing an ass, that’s as far as they’ve gone.

This is all new territory for them and their relationship. Exciting, and certainly something that Prompto has fantasized about, but the reality of it is terrifying. In Prompto’s fantasies he’s in control of his entire universe. In Prompto’s fantasies he’s not clumsy or awkward, he doesn’t have stretch marks and freckles for days, and despite his inexperience, the Gladio of his fantasies is always brought to the heights of euphoric pleasure.  This here, though, this is cold hard reality, a reality in which Prompto is somehow dating a guy who looks like a marble statue come to life, who’s far too handsome and charismatic to not be experienced and talented sexually.

Prompto exhales a shaky breath and turns back to the scenery. He really should take some photos – who knows when he’ll have the chance to travel outside of the Wall like this again. This is a world that he’s never seen before and likely never will again. The outside world is a dangerous and forbidding place, made bearable only thanks to the company of Gladio. The man is like a one-man army and Prompto doesn’t fear the elements nor the wildlife when he’s with his boyfriend. Unless you count Gladio in bed as a wild beast and oh Six above, Prompto needs to stop thinking about that.

He wants to take pictures if only to occupy his mind, but he’s so nervous that he’s just as likely to drop his camera out the open window and shatter it against the asphalt as he is to take an actual picture of anything.

* * *

 

They drive for several hours. Sensitive to how uncharacteristically quiet Prompto is being, Gladio slides a disc into the jeep’s music player. It’s one of Prompto’s mixes, a blend of urban funk, jazzy blues, and classic rock – a little something for all occasions. Before long one of Prompto’s favourite songs comes on, and he’s happily bouncing along to the beat, singing off-key while Gladio fails spectacularly at harmonizing.

Eventually the browns of Leide make way for the lush verdant hues of Duscae and Gladio flicks the music off.

“Almost there, babe!”

Gravel crunches beneath the tires as they pull up onto the shoulder of the road just outside a haven. Even by the blazing light of the late afternoon sun the runes glow cerulean and bright, beams of light twisting beseechingly towards the heavens. It’s enough to coax the camera to Prompto’s hands once more and he snaps a few pictures.

Gladio is all smiles as soon as his boots hit the pavement. He stretches languidly and Prompto can hear Gladio’s back popping, The Shield draws in a deep, satisfied breath of air and lets it out slowly before looking down at Prompto, amber eyes twinkling.

“Breathe that in, Sunshine. Fresh air. Actually _fresh_.” He grins. “I really hope you like this trip. Your first time camping!”

Prompto gulps and does what he’s told, drawing in a lungful warm air. He grins. He can taste the difference. It’s fresh and clean, unsullied by the exhaust from too many cars or the waste from countless factories. Around them the skyline is broken on one side by exotic rock formations, and in all other directions the landscape is a sea of lush green forests, pure and unspoilt.

“It tastes the way clean laundry smells,” the blonde says finally.

Gladio barks out quick laugh at that. “That’s one way of putting it.” Reaching down he runs his fingers through golden locks, rumpling Prompto’s ‘do.

“Hey! Watch the hair, man! You’ll mess up my hard work!” he whines, trying not to laugh.

Gladio scoffs. “Wind already took care of that.”

Prompto deflates, hands scrabbling up to inspect his hair, finding the familiar points and angles of the spikes he’d gelled into place in front of his mirror that morning. He frowns, freckled features scrunching in confusion. “Feels okay…”

“Oh, my bad, I forgot that ‘I just fell out of a tornado’ is your usual style.” Gladio smirks and easily sidesteps the punch Prompto aims at him.

The pair trade good-natured insults about each others hairstyles, the virtues of the mullet and the chocobo butt being extolled by their respective owners. The teasing and accompanying laughter does much to distract Prompto from his lingering worries and eases his tension.

Eventually Gladio calls them both to order and strides to the back of the jeep. They’re parked within sight of the haven, but the Shield insists that they bring all of their gear up with them. Just in case. Gladio, naturally, shoulders the bulk of their burdens. He has packs strapped to his back and slung over his shoulders, and a heavy bundle wrapped it canvas cradled in his arms. Prompto, for his part, is only expected to sling his backpack over his shoulder and grab an armful of pillows from the back of the jeep. He means to apologize, to offer to take some of Gladio’s bags, but there’s something hypnotic about the way Gladio’s muscles ripple and swell beneath taut skin that causes Prompto to forget how to form words, and he can’t seem to do anything more than trail happily along in Gladio’s wake.

* * *

 

The haven is beautiful, a little piece of paradise they’ve claimed for their own, at least for one night. A smooth rocky plateau offering stunning views of the surrounding rock arches and forests. The sky overhead is streaked with tones of copper and gold as the sun begins its descent into the west, casting a warm glow over the scene.

Prompto finds his voice at last and asks Gladio what he can do to help set up their campsite. There’s a massive pile of bags stacked near the edge of the rocky ledge that will be their home for the night.

All smiles, Gladio leans down, erasing their height distance, to press his lips to Prompter’s forehead. “Nothing. Just relax and let me take care of you tonight, yeah?” He eyes the camera slung around Prompto’s neck. “I figured you’d want to take a zillion pictures while there’s still light. What’s this called again? Happy hour?”

Prompto tries to supress a burst of laughter and ends up snorting inelegantly. “ _Golden_ hour. You big dork. Happy hour is cheap drinks.”

“Whatever. Just go make some memories and I’ll get this stuff sorted. Won’t take long.”

Smiling impishly, Prompto wobbles up onto his toes until he can reach Gladio’s jawline with his lips, pressing an affectionate kiss into the sun-warmed skin there. “Love you, big guy,” he murmurs, meaning every word. He appreciates the way Gladio always takes charge of the situation, always looks out for him – even going so far, it seems, as to indulge Prompto’s photography hobby when there’s work to be done.

They work together in an easy, companionable silence, broken only by the click of Prompto’s camera, and the clanging of metal as Gladio sets up a small tent and erects a fancy little grill overtop the haven’s firepit. Once the setting sun dips below the tree line Prompto finally lowers his camera and looks around, seeing that Gladio has almost everything set up. His boyfriend is just putting the finishing touches on things.

Even though they have a tent ready, Gladio has taken their blankets and sleeping bags and laid them out on the ground beside the firepit, creating a soft nest for them. A small mountain of pillows stretches across one edge of the blanket, soft and inviting. Overtop, though, Gladio has strewn soft yellow flower petals – from sunflowers or roses, Prompto can’t tell – and Prompto’s heart definitely stops being for a few seconds. It’s beautiful and perfect, and makes him feel like he’s not the best friend of the crown Prince but royalty himself.  On reflex Prompto pulls his camera up and snaps a picture, immortalizing this display of Gladio’s gentle romanticism.

“You like it?” Gladio asks, brown eyes bright with hope, and a hint of red at the tips of his ears that gives away the fact that he’s feeling a bit shy and uncertain himself, possibly worried that Prompto will think him silly for being such a hopeless romantic.

It’s tempting to be cute and say something like ‘No I don’t like it … I looove it! Psyche!’ but that would be cruel. So instead Prompto meets his boyfriend’s tender expression with a sapphire-tinted mirror and responds with the sincerity and appreciation Gladio deserves. “I love it, and I love you, and I love the fact that you did this for us.”

Gladio’s answering grin could illuminate the twilit sky.

Gladio lights the fire and drags a cooler over until it’s within arm’s reach of the blankets. Once everything has been tended, Gladio turns his attention back to Prompto, his voice a husky caress to eager ears. “There. Now I’ve taken care of that, lemme take care of you.”

Powerful yet gentle hands guide Prompto to their cozy camping nest, guiding him down to sit atop the soft blankets. Prompto watches, spellbound, as Gladio crouches down beside him and begins helping the blonde out of his boots so that he can curl up on the blankets more comfortably. He then toes off his own boots and claims his rightful place next to Prompto, a warm, solid mass at his side that Prompto leans into eagerly.

It’s perfect – he’s perfect – they’re perfect. The fire crackles merrily beside them, casting a golden radiance over their small campsite, their sanctuary. The flower petals – definitely roses – are silken beneath Prompto’s palms, emitting a rich, sweet fragrance when the odd petal is crushed beneath one of them. He would be happy to spend all of eternity just like this, just Gladio and him with the evening stars overhead and soft blankets and sweet flowers beneath them.

Any remaining trepidations that Prompto’d held on to have evaporated like little more than campfire smoke. This is a perfect evening, one he’ll remember for the rest of his life, and judging by the blissful smile on his boyfriend’s face Gladio feels the same way. And all they’ve done is share a few kisses while enjoying each other’s company in the car and now at the haven. All they need is each other to turn wherever they happen to be into a perfect utopia.

“Hungry?” Gladio finally asks, after they’ve basked in each other’s company and the soothing firelight for a quarter of an hour. He laughs when Prompto’s stomach gurgles before the blonde can answer with words. “Good, I brought all of the best stuff.”

The way Gladio’s face lights up is charming beyond words, his enthusiasm is contagious. He flips open the cooler and one by one he presents items for Prompto’s inspection, waiting a beat each time, eager and expectant, waiting for Prompto’s reactions. It’s all of their favourite things – cup noodles, packaged meat skewers that just need to be heated and crisped over a fire, a huge jug of Prompto’s favourite fruit punch, and finally the piece de resistance – graham crackers, several massive bars of milk chocolate, and a gigantic bag of marshmallows.

“Can’t go camping without s’mores.”

Prompto grins. “Awesome, I’ve never had one.”

Gladio smiles, all flashing white teeth and dimples. “You’ll love ‘em.”

* * *

 

Everything is delicious, their food and drink tinged with the exotic, intangible flavour that you can only achieve when cooking outside over an open flame. Prompto reclines against the mounds of pillows, sated and content, while Gladio hand feeds him choice morsels off of a skewer. He’d tried to protest that Gladio doesn’t need to wait on him hand on foot, but the bigger man just got this fond look in his eyes and a stubborn set to his jaw and Prompto knew that he was doomed to be doted upon all night whether he likes it or not. Luckily he kinda likes it.

S’mores are, without a doubt, the single greatest invention that mankind has to its name. Like, fire is nice and all, and the wheel let them do all sorts of nifty things, but s’mores have them all beat.  Prompto’s not usually one for too many sweets, but there’s just something about the way the marshmallow turns molten, mixes with the chocolate until it melts into a bed of crunchy sweet graham crackers that he can’t get enough of. And even when they run out of crackers and chocolate and all they have left are half a bag of plump marshmallows, he keeps going, poking marshmallow after marshmallow onto the end of his stick and meticulously toasting them. Unlike Gladio, who just shoves them into the flames until the marshmallow becomes a sugary torch, Prompto takes pride in evenly toasting his marshmallows until they’re a perfect golden colour very much reminiscent of his boyfriend’s eyes.

Firelight catches in Gladio’s eyes, his irises resembling molten honey as he stares intently at Prompto. Pure adoration is etched into his handsome features and it makes Prompto’s heart do a series of giddy cartwheels. All of this love, this affection, this incredible capacity that Gladio has to care for others, it’s all pinpointed on Prompto and he’s ready to be swept away by the tide of Gladio’s love.

“Got a little somehtin’ here,” Gladio rumbles in that deep baritone that turns Prompto’s insides to mush.

“Huh?” Prompto tries to ask, but his voice fizzles away when Gladio leans in, full lips so warm and tender as they press into the corner of his mouth where a little dollop of melted marshmallow goo has settled. The tip of a warm tongue sneaks out, flicking teasingly at the sensitive skin beside Prompto’s lips.

“Delicious,” Gladio sighs, breath fanning gently against his cheek. “And the marshmallow tastes good, too.”

With that tender gesture what remained of Prompto’s reservations crumble to dust. He turns his head slightly, just enough to catch Gladio’s lips with his own before the other man can fully draw away. They both moan into the kiss, breath mingling sweetly.

A pair of strong arms curl protectively – possessively – around Prompto’s slender frame and he’s drawn into the familiar comfort of Gladio’s lap. He’s no stranger to this most privileged position, the broad thighs beneath him are a familiar cushion, the sculpted chest in front of him a familiar place to rest. Some people have a favourite chair, some people claim a particular side of the sofa as their personal territory, but Prompto has Gladio’s lap. This is home.

Suddenly it’s as if they’re curled up together on Gladio’s couch and not in the middle of the wilds with the unencumbered sky stretching unbroken overhead into infinity. Prompto’s world shrinks until it contains only Gladio, the crackling fire, and their nest of blankets and rose petals.

Slender arms drape eagerly around broad shoulders as Prompto pulls himself closer to his boyfriend, his thighs parting to straddle the other man’s wide lap. From this angle he’s the same height as Gladio and their lips fit together effortlessly. There’s no battle of tongues, no frantic clashing of teeth. Only a sweet, slow melt as their lips come together, soft sighs exchanged between them, swallowed up by a tender kiss that tastes faintly of marshmallow and chocolate.

They surface minutes later, both gasping for a proper breath of air. Before Prompto can press his mouth to Gladio’s again, however, callused fingertips press gently to kiss-swollen lips, keeping Prompto at bay for the time it takes to ask in a voice tantalizingly rich and low “You okay, babe?”

He’s temped to respond with a kiss, or even by daringly drawing those fingers into his mouth and sucking on them. He almost does it, too, but then the firelight flares suddenly, illuminating Gladio’s features, his expression so open and earnest, eyes so full of love and concern, that Prompto knows he needs to answer properly. Gladio has taken it upon himself to shield Prompto’s heart in much the same way that he’s sworn to shield Noctis’s body, and he’s taking his duty seriously tonight.

Prompto nods and murmurs a soft “Mhm. Yeah.”

The brunette traces his thumb lightly over the plush curve of Pompto’s lower lip, his touch so soft, no more than a whisper of skin against skin. “You’re in charge, okay?” Soulful brown eyes seek out shy blue. “Think of me as a gift you can unwrap, and you can unwrap as much or as little as you like. You don’t owe me anything, got it?” Gladio pauses for the span of a few heartbeats before adding “And I’ll be happy no matter what. Even if all we do is snuggle by the fire and count the stars.” He laughs then, softly, gently, a carefree sound that goes straight to Prompto’s heart. “Just being out here with you, with no other distractions, it’s everything that I need.”

“Gladio…” He sighs his boyfriend’s name, turning those three syllables into a breathy litany of praise and love. He knows with every fiber of his being, from his baby toe to his spiky blonde hair that Gladio’s not trying to be polite, or romantic. This isn’t some trite cliché that he read in one of his bodice-ripper dime store romances and is attempting to emulate. Gladio _means_ it. And when Prompto speaks he ensures that he pours all of his conviction and surety into the words so that Gladio won’t have to doubt and worry over his little sunshine boy. “I want this. I want _you_. I want _us_.” He curls his fingers around Gladio’s shoulders, squeezing for emphasis.

His cheeks burn with embarrassed heat. Lines like that fall so easily from Gladio’s perfect lips and taste like cheese when he tries to say them, but Gladio doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo about Prompto not being the suave romantic type.  The Shield’s cheeks are tinting a warm rose beneath the glow of reflected firelight and he looks at Prompto with such wonderment and joy that it makes Prompto realize that all Gladio truly wanted and hoped for was time alone with his boyfriend. Anything else is just icing on an already decadent cake and Prompto is in charge of the decorating.

“I love you,” they both say in unison – Gladio in a whisper, Prompto in a sigh.

Their lips crash together again, a searing kiss that rivals the heat of the nearby campfire. Loving hands trail up and down each other’s back, until curious fingers find hems and slip beneath the fabric, caressing the soft, warm skin beneath their layers.

They work in tandem, though Prompto always takes the lead and Gladio mirrors his actions on a three second delay. Hoodies, t-shirts and tank tops are peeled away, until Prompto can wrap his arms around Gladio, chest-to-chest, skin flush to skin. Despite the chill of the evening air Prompto’s never felt warmer. Gladio is like a human furnace, radiating a soothing heat that seeps into Prompto’s greedy body as he remains perched on his lap.

Carefully, always in perfect control of his powerful body, Gladio eases them both down onto their sides atop the softness of the blankets. The fire is at Prompto’s back, warming him where Gladio doesn’t. They’re a happy tangle of limbs, bare from the waist up, joined at the lips. Prompto’s fingertips trace the lines of the tattoo that creeps over his boyfriend’s shoulder in a delicate display of worship.

Gradually their kisses grow more fervent, more needy. Prompto flicks the tip of his tongue against Gladio’s lips, coy and playful. Their hands grow more confident, more demanding. Prompto lets his fingers skate down the exquisite lines of Gladio’s back until he finds the firm swell of his ass, kneading it gently, admiringly. Gladio responds by nudging Prompto’s thighs apart with one of his own, until he can feel Prompto’s hardness against his thigh.

“You okay?” Gladio purrs against his lips, the vibrations making Prompto squirm.

“The best,” he gasps against his boyfriend’s mouth. Gladio’s answering kiss steals his breath and he doesn’t relent, not even when the world around Prompto begins to fade into a misty haze of love and lust.

The muscular thigh against him becomes too much temptation. Prompto’s self-control has been whittled away by marshmallow kisses and he presses himself against his boyfriend with a groan that Gladio can practically taste in their kiss. Slender hips arch wantonly, seeking friction, seeking contact, seeking a satisfaction that Prompto doesn’t think that he can find with the both of them still wearing their jeans.

Their lips ease apart and they gasp for breath. Before Gladio can ask him again if he’s okay Prompto’s fingers go on a pre-emptive strike, seeking out the other man’s belt buckle. Gladio moans eagerly, hips own hips rocking forwards, beseechingly, imploringly. Prompto chuckles lowly and for once it’s his turn to ask. “Is it okay?” with his fingertips hovering over the other’s belt buckle.

“Fuck yes, babe. Whatever you want. Unwrap me.” Gladio falls back into the embrace of the blankets, cradled by pillows and rose petals, giving Prompto easy access to his belt and the zipper of his jeans.

Part of Prompto still can’t believe that this is happening, that his beautiful, handsome boyfriend is sprawled before him, firelight dancing over the hills and valleys of hard-earned musculature. Reverent fingertips trace over each chiseled line, following the cleft between deeply cut abdominals, back down to Gladio’s belt. He fumbles for a moment before the catch yields. There’s something lewd, borderline obscene, about the sound of metal clanking and clattering. When he has the belt undone and has worked Gladio’s fly open, the other man arches his hips up and away from the blankets, giving Prompto ample room to tug his pants down.

Gladio’s not wearing any underwear. Sweet Shiva save him.

A soft moan pours from Prompto’s lips at the sight of his boyfriend lying before him in all of his naked glory – and such glory it is. His skin is impossibly smooth, like satin stretched over taut muscles, and he glows in warm coppery tones beneath the kiss of firelight.  And his cock, sweet Shiva save him. Half hard already, a pearl of precum glistens at the tip of a cock that is very much proportionate to the rest of Gladio.

Like a moth drawn to a flame Prompto reclaims his spot atop Gladio’s now bare thighs, gazing down at the behemoth of a man who lays sprawled before him atop sleeping bags and rose petals.

“Like what you see?” Gladio rumbles as he stares up at him through impossibly long lashes that shade his darkened gaze.

“Hmmm,” Prompto taps a thoughtful finger against his chin. “Depends.”

It’s endearing, really, the way Gladio’s eyes go wide and his teeth sink piteously into his bottom lip while he waits for Prompto to pass judgment.

“Can I look with my hands or just my eyes?” he finally asks, and then laughing he drapes himself across Gladio’s chest, leaning in to steal a kiss before his boyfriend can answer. Prompto can’t taste marshmallows or chocolate on Gladio’s lips and tongue anymore, but he drinks Gladio’s kisses down like a fine wine, and he’s a connoisseur – and Gladio is _delicious_.

Somehow, while Prompto was distracted by sampling the wonders of Gladio’s mouth, the other man managed to pop open the buttons on Prompto’s jeans. They slide down his narrow waist, baring a hint of angular hipbones and a soft dusting of fine golden hairs at the apex of his navel. Gladio’s fingertips are at his hip, tracing slow, gentle circles, a silent promise, an unspoken entreaty.

When Prompto nods, Gladio curls his fingers into Prompto’s waistband, capturing both his denims and the edge of his boxers, and begins slowly shimmying them down Prompto’s thighs, carefully freeing one leg and then the other, all while Prompto remains straddling Gladio’s waist.

Despite himself, despite his certainty that Gladio loves him, Prompto closes his eyes. This is the moment in his fantasies where he feels like dreams and reality diverge. His belly and thighs are taut, but faint silvery stretch marks and a dusting of freckles tarnish his pale skin. He’s suddenly straddling a man with the beauty and physique of a god, and he feels so flawed and mortal by comparison, aching to worship this superior creature but not really knowing _how_.

While Prompto frets over how to properly adore Gladio’s body, Gladio’s already there to help, like he always is. Gentle hands caress at his thighs and Prompto shudders at the contrasting sensations – Gladio’s hands are smooth as silk in places, and rough like crushed velvet from calluses in others.

“Prompto … “ Gladio moans softly, and Prompto’s name becomes a prayer on his lips, sung towards the heavens above them. “Prompto…”

Prompto cracks an eye open shyly. “Y-yeah?”

He watches, mesmerized, as Gladio’s fingers trace Prompto’s thighs, up over the jut of his hip bones, trailing through the soft dusting of hair at his navel. “You’re so gorgeous. I wish you could see yourself, babe.” Gladio sounds breathless, as if looking at Prompto’s bare form, backlit by the fire, is the most exquisite thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

Prompto shakes his head fiercely, golden spikes of hair wobbling.

“Shhh babe, shhh. Yes, you are.”  A hand slips from Prompto’s hip, finding one of his own. Fingers lace together, thick and tanned entwined with slender and pale, and Gladio guides their combined grip down to his erection. “This is what you do to me,” he whispers. “Feel that?”

Prompto keens softly. Gladio’s cock is like molten velvet in his hand – soft, hard, hot and pulsing with obvious want and desire.  With an unabashed moan Gladio arches his hips up, bucking into their palms, smearing his precum across Prompto’s fingers.

“Gladio, ohmigod,” Prompto whines, his own cock twitching to life at the thought of Gladio getting hard because of him, of Gladio’s body aching for his in the same way that he aches for Gladio and has ached for him since practically the day they’d met.

“Let me take care of you, take care of us,” Gladio whispers. “Show you how good you are.”

“Yes,” Prompto breathes, the words so soft and faint that it’s a wonder that the evening breeze doesn’t snatch the words away before Gladio can catch them.

Easily, expertly, his strength and athleticism on glorious display, Gladio rolls them over until it’s Prompto who reclines against pillows and blankets, crushed petals clinging to sweat-kissed skin, and Gladio who hovers above him, backlit by the campfire, throwing his chiselled features and sculpted physique into sharp relief.

Gladio braces himself upon one hand sunk deeply into the blankets as he lines their bodies up. They slot together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, one of Gladio’s thighs between Prompto’s, their erections flush together, precum beading, weeping, mingling as little pearls of moisture trail down their shafts.

With his free hand Gladio seeks one of Prompto’s, lacing their fingers together once more. Gladio brings Prompto’s knuckles to his lips for a series of achingly sweet kisses, before he lowers their joined hands to cup their erections, pressing them together.

Prompto cries out, head tossing side to side as a jolt of euphoric pleasure races down his spine. Oh Gods, if he’d known it would feel this good to feel Gladio’s cock against him, he would have begged his partner to take the next step ages ago.

Gladio starts them off slowly, gently, each movement infused with so much care and tenderness that it barely registers that this is something sexual – it somehow feels as chaste and as pure as the first time that Gladio kissed his cheek, or held his hand. The larger man rolls his hips forward, their cocks pressing and sliding against each other within the confines of their joint grip. It feels so good, the contrast of textures between their hands and each other’s cock, the heat, the softness, the _everything_.

It feels so good, the slide of flesh against flesh, their erections growing achingly hard together. Prompto craves more, and can’t help the way his hips buck, thrusting himself upwards to try and meet Gladio.

Gladio groans lowly and grinds himself hard against Prompto’s groin in response. The muscles and tendons in his arm flex majestically, bearing most of his impressive weight to avoid crushing Prompto beneath him. Prompto cries out, desperately clinging to Gladio’s back, his fingers creating little indents in the bulging muscles.

They develop an easy, unhurried rhythm. They have all night with only the stars and each other for company. Their gazes lock, molten amber with burning sapphire and each man is intent upon engraving the memory of this night into his very soul, never to forget a single detail, from the smell of crushed roses, the crackle of the flames, their soft gasps and groans filling the night, the way their sweat-slicked bodies slide together in that beautiful, perfect rhythm of mutual pleasure and adoration.

A few times Prompto’s hips quiver and strain to chase a faster rhythm, silently entreating Gladio to pump their hands faster over their cocks, or rut his hips more quickly into Prompto. Each time Gladio soothes him with a kiss and croons sweet platitudes into the shell of his ear – ‘don’t rush, it’s okay, just enjoy it, I’ll get you there.’

And he does.

Prompto has no sense of time. Stars whirl in the heavens overhead; the fire burns itself down to glowing embers and a few stubborn logs. Beneath their writhing bodies the blankets have bunched and swirled into a mess. Minutes, maybe hours have passed as the pair became lost in each other’s embrace, lost in the unrivalled pleasure of a lover in their arms and wanton flesh against flesh.

It’s more than Prompto ever dreamed that it could be, and at once also not enough, not nearly enough. Every nerve ending in his body is ablaze and tingling with exhilaration. This is so good, the drag of flesh against flesh, their warm hands over and around each other, but Prompto knows there’s so much more. A whine falls pitifully from pouted lips. Gladio moves in, devouring Prompto’s whines with his mouth before pulling back a fraction to ask, “You okay?”

“More? Can I have more?”

“Anything – everything – whatever you want.” Gladio’s breath fans hot and sweet against Prompto’s cheek and the blonde sighs blissfully.

What does he want, though? The answer is everything – he wants to please Gladio and be pleased, wants to taste and be tasted, love and be loved, wants Gladio in him, around in, on him, under him. His head spins, mind reeling at the possibilities, at the conflicting desires of his heart and body.

“It’s okay,” Gladio soothes, his full lips brushing tenderly against his cheek. “Don’t overthink.”

With a low hum Prompto twitches his hips, brushing their aching lengths together once more. As the pleasure swirls to a crescendo in his groin he lets go of his inhibitions and just speaks without thinking about it, letting his more base urges guide him.

“I want you in me. Please?”

A sharp inhalation of breath answers him before Gladio gently disentangles their fingers and brings the hand up to cup Prompto’s cheek, a warm, steadying presence. “Are you sure?”

He is. He really is. He knows it with everything that he is that he wants Gladio inside of him, where no one has been before and hopefully no one else ever will. “Completely,” he breathes.

Gladio moans softly, white teeth sinking into his bottom lip, chewing pensively. After a few torturous seconds he whispers. “I’m kinda big. I don’t- I don’t want to hurt you.”

Prompto’s freckled features crumple and Gladio is immediately contrite. “But we can try! It just might take awhile, okay?” Soft amber eyes seek out his, beseechingly. “You need to tell me if anything doesn’t feel good, okay?”

Prompto grins lazily. “We have all night, right?”

Gladio kisses him in response before sliding back and away. Prompto whines at the brief loss of contact but Gladio shushes him gently. “I’m right here. Just gotta get some stuff.” There’s a rustling of fabric and the grating of a zipper as Gladio retrieves something from one of his packs.

Prompto lays back against the pillows and blankets, bare skin shivering under the caress of cool night air, goosebumps rising atop alabaster skin. Before he can get too lonely Gladio eases back into his field of vision, all affectionate eyes and sweet, loving smiles.

Prompto doesn’t know what to expect. He knows that he needs to be prepared to receive Gladio’s cock, he’s not naïve, but he doesn’t expect his boyfriend to approach him with such unrivalled tenderness and gentleness.  Big hands gently ease Prompto’s thighs apart, creating space for Gladio to kneel up between them, his bulk looming impressively over him once more. Prompto licks his lips expectantly.

Gladio crawls over Prompto, careful to keep his weight centred on his own hands and knees. A loving mouth presses soft kisses into the crook of his neck, slowly trailing down the taut planes of his chest, kissing each of his ribs, tracing the faint lines of his abdominals with his tongue, nibbling on the edge of a hip.

Prompto’s skin positively sings in the wake of Gladio’s affections and he writhes into the blankets, keening happily in a wordless plea for more.

Adoring lips nuzzle into the sensitive skin at Prompto’s inner thighs and he’s pretty sure he’ll be sporting a few colourful marks in the morning – souvenirs of the most perfect night of his life.

Just when Prompto thinks he might combust with desire, Gladio peers up at him from between his parted thighs, golden eyes darkened with lust but serious and intent as well. “Remember, let me know if you don’t like anything. It’s okay, it’ll always be okay.”

Prompto’s hum of agreement dissolves into a shocked gasp as Gladio eases a hand under the small of his back, gently lifting his hips. His boyfriend presses a last, reverent kiss into the alabaster smoothness of his thighs before that talented, beautiful, loving mouth finds his puckered entrance.

Sapphire eyes roll back as Gladio presses open-mouthed adoration to Prompto’s hole, teasing the tight ring of muscles with his lips and the tip of his tongue. A full-body tremor races through the blonde and he trembles with every flick of his tongue, every graze of full lips. Even the soft puffs of Gladio’s breath against his entrance are enough to send currents of electric pleasure through him.

After a few minutes of teasing, Gladio presses the flat of his tongue to Prompto’s hole, causing the blonde to cry out and his hips to wriggle helplessly, grinding himself against Gladio’s mouth without even realizing what he’s doing until it’s too late. Judging by the moan of pleasure that reverberates against his ass, Gladio doesn’t seem to mind. Strong hands grasp at the blonde’s hips, holding him to his face as he continues to work at Prompto’s entrance with his mouth, spearing the very tip of his tongue into his entrance, past the tight ring of muscles that have been massaged with licks and kisses enough to be pliant and willing of this small intrusion.

“Mmm Gladio… yes.” Prompto shivers, giddy with pleasure. There's something unspeakably intimate about being opened this way, with seeing Gladio's wild mane of chestnut hair buried between his legs, the feel of the other man's breath hot against his entrance, knowing that every flick of the tongue and nuzzle of lips is engineered for the sole purpose of pleasuring Prompto.

Gladio shifts slightly, pressing his scruffy cheek against one of Prompto’s thighs, gazing up at the blonde with such open affection that it makes Prompto's insides melt like a marshmallow held to a campfire. .Prompto whimpers at the loss of contact, but the tip of a callused finger soon replaces Gladio’s mouth and it’s better than Prompto could have dreamed. It’s slightly cool whereas his tongue had been so hot, and it takes Prompto a moment to realize that Gladio’s hand is slick with lube.

The Shield’s eyes never leave Prompto as he begins working him open with careful fingers, sensitive and alert to the slightest hint that it’s too much for him to take. At first it’s just a fingertip gently circling his rim, teasing him before slipping in easily up to the knuckle. Prompto sucks in a breath and forgets to exhale until Gladio nips his thigh and reminds him.

The stars whirl and blur overhead as Gladio works him, pumping his finger slowly in and out, until he can add a second and then even a third. It’s tight, and Prompto can feel the stretch and the burn as his body strains to acclimate to the welcome intrusion. He twitches involuntarily when a knuckle pushes just right into a tense wall of muscle, or grazes that mythical bundle of nerves that makes Prompto see stars.

Eventually Prompto begins rocking his hips gently to Gladio’s rhythm, wriggling against his hand because by the Gods it does feel good. Knowing that it’s a part of Gladio inside of him is intoxicating, as if the other is claiming him piece by piece with each thrust of a digit.

“More, want you, more.” Prompto babbles incoherently.

Gladio chuckles in response and pulls away – which is pretty much the exact opposite of what he was asking for. He fidgets and squirms into the blankets, aching body seeking contact once more. The sound of a foil packet tearing open is sweet music to his ears, as is the faint squirt of more lubricant being applied somewhere.

And then he’s there, his Gladio, his bulk filling his vision, eclipsing the sky as he hovers above him. Gentle hands grasp his knees, coaxing them to wrap around his waist. Gladio supports himself on one hand again, the other finding Prompto’s hip, fingertips rubbing soothing circles into the skin in wordless reassurance that it’s okay, Gladio will look after them.

Gladio eases into him, inch by inch, painfully slowly. The look of earnest concentration on his face is priceless and he wishes that he could stop them to take a picture. He's so obviously trying not to hurt Prompto, so obviously wants this to be perfect and special, a nigh-on magical experience. Faint lines crease Gladio's brow as he concentrates on easing himself in as smoothly and gently as possible.

Even with so much preparation his body resists, and Gladio grows still each time Prompto’s breath hitches or his body tenses below him. As ever his gaze is fixed on Prompto’s face, alert for any hints of distress. Eventually he’s fully seated within Prompto, who gasps and shivers, reaching up to clutch at the broad shoulders above him, fingertips slipping and sliding against sweat-slickened skin before finding purchase.

Prompto clings to his lover as he slowly pulls back. The drag of his cock is utterly exquisite, more so even than the initial thrust in. Fireworks explode behind Prompto's eyes at the sensation of Gladio's cock easing out of him, relieving the pressure inside of him but making him starangely yearning for more, aching to be filled again.

Gladio sets an easy, languid pace, as if he intends to drag this out all night until the sunrise is there to bless their union. His thrusts are slow, measured, and Prompto can feel each inch sliding in and out, brushing against sensitive walls of muscle, stretching and teasing him further.

Slowly the blonde acclimates to the feel of Gladio’s cock in him, to the stretch and burn of the swollen organ thrusting into him, and the incredible feeling of being so full. His earlier whimpers dissolve into moans and breathless pleas for _more_.

A sly grin steals across Gladio’s features and quick as lightning he curls his arms around Prompto and without unsheathing himself he flips them around so that Gladio is lying atop the blankets with Prompto straddling him. The blonde gasps, wobbling in place when he realizes that he’s got his thighs splayed to either side of Gladio’s sculpted physique, his cock buried in his ass, willing and pliant beneath him.

“You’re in control now,” Gladio whispers as his hands find their place about Prompto’s hips to rub more soothing circles into the tender flesh there.

Never in his wildest dreams did Prompto ever think that he would be here, in the middle of the wilds of Duscae, campfire crackling behind him, illuminating the naked form of Gladiolus Amicitia before him and beneath him, writhing and practically begging Prompto to ride him, to chase his own pleasure and desires through him.

A sharp breath hisses through his teeth as Prompto begins to do just that. Small, pale hands splay across Gladio's chest for support and  his lean hips roll gently as he slowly slides himself up and down Gladio’s cock, bouncing over his lover’s lap. It feels incredible - physically and emotionally. There's a certain intoxicating thrill that comes from having someone with Gladio's prodigious strength at his mercy. It's a heady rush that makes Prompto dizzy. 

Like Gladio, Prompto adopts a slow, almost lazy pace, as if he's suddenly the one afraid of hurting his lover. Gladio's cock feels fantastic in him - like his body was made to receive the other - and Prompto could happily piston his small body over Gladio's until the rocks beneath them crack from the force of it. But he doesn't want to crack Gladio in the process.

As if reading his thoughts, Gladio lets out a shuddering breath and gasps, "You won't break me. It's okay." As if to emphasize his point the larger man arches his hips off of the ground, tempting Prompto to seat himself more firmly.

Prompto tosses his head back and begins rocking his hips up and down, using his knees for leverage to pump his body up and down over Gladio's length. Low guttural moans pour readily from Gladio's lips with each downward thrust, mingling with Prompto's breathy gasps, a sweet duet that sings a song of love, lust, and celebration.

Gladio lifts his knees, the backs of his broad thighs becoming a backrest for his lover. When Prompto leans back he lets out a soft “Oh!” of unexpected pleasure as he realizes what this angle does to him. With each wriggle and thrust the head of Gladio’s cock slides against his prostate, kindling his passions to dizzying new heights. Each thrust sends white-hot ribbons of ecstasy through him, making his toes curl with pleasure. 

A hand slides away from Prompto’s hip, seeking and finding his neglected cock – still hard and weeping precum liberally. Gladio presses his thumb into the slit, smearing it, making Prompto see stars. His grip is tighter than it had been earlier, more insistent, demanding that Prompto's body embrace every ounce of pleasure that it can. 

They find their rhythm together - hips rocking into hips, Gladio's hand mirroring Prompto's thrusts, each bounce met with a sharp tug, until twin coils of pleasure tighten and unfurl in them both.

They can feel it – Prompto can taste it on his tongue – the sweet promise of release. It’s not like Gladio’s romance novels, where it’s often likened to a wave crashing over the person, or a raging fire that consumes all. It’s a gentle warmth that slowly creeps up on them until they’re enveloped in a moment of radiant bliss. It’s like the sun cresting the horizon at dawn – a perfect golden moment full of warmth and light, all-encompassing perfection, glorifying and elevating their little part of the world, shining a spotlight on their love.

Prompto comes first, body going taut atop Gladio, coating his hand and their bellies with ropes of cum. Gladio’s name falls from his lips in an endless litany, over and over.

“Oh Gladio, Gladio, my Gladio, Gladi-oo!”

Gladio gasps, eyes squeezing shut and with a final few pumps of his hips up into Prompto's tight heat he comes too, as if he’d only ever been waiting for Prompto to sail over the horizon of orgasm first.

It takes them both a few minutes to come down from the high of the moment. When they do, Gladio gently eases Prompto off of him, guiding him into the softness of the blankets beside him, his bulk shielding his lover from much of the night’s chill. They stare into each other’s eyes, both relishing the blissed-out expression on their partner’s face.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Gladio groans and stretches, the picture of sated euphoria.

“You’re just, wow,” Prompto responds as he snuggles into Gladio’s side. He can feel his cum beginning to dry, cool and tacky. His freckled nose wrinkles.

As if reading his thoughts – or probably just feeling something similar – Gladio chuckles and once again that soothing baritone pierces him to the core. “Let me take care of you.”

Blankets shuffle and rustle as Gladio slinks down. Prompto shivers as more of his skin is exposed to the chill, abandoned by Gladio’s natural heat. Almost immediately, though, his shivers morph into giddy trembling as a pointed tongue flicks out, eagerly lapping the spend from Prompto’s skin.

“Tastes like marshmallow,” Gladio murmurs from somewhere around Prompto’s navel.

Prompto huffs softly, almost a laugh. “I doubt that.”

“Only one way to find out.” Gladio’s head pops up, peeking up at Prompto as he rests a cheek against his lover’s belly and he has the audacity to wink at him.

They laugh together amid a rustling of blankets and soon the night is full of renewed moans and the lewd sounds of a tongue worshipping skin.

 

 


End file.
